you scratched our initials
into the surface
of the polished wooden table
behind Redlight Redlight
with the key to my heart.
P + S.
a brief message
etched in time
for all to see.
you grinned up at me
when you'd finished,
ombré fluttering slightly
in the evening breeze,
and said, unabashedly,
"it was the first thing
that popped into to my head."
P.S.
sometimes, i still think
of how your hands clung insistently
to my windbreaker when we sat
on the pier, how our bodies
synced in quiet harmony.
National Poetry Month, Day 24.